Dreadknight Garen
by Leon He
Summary: Garen gives up everything he has for love. My take on Garen's dreadknight skin.


"Stand down, Jarvan," he said. "We are brothers. I would not raise my blade against you."

"You've raised your blade against me and all of Demacia," Jarvan growled. He hoisted his sectioned spear, pointing its tip at Garen in accusation. "On your brothers and sisters in arms, you have turned on us all. Traitor." Jarvan exhaled his last word like a rotten fume.

Garen lifted his sword, blade pointed down in a defensive pose as he balanced the weight of the tip. His eyes narrowed in focus, refusing to let the glare of Jarvan's golden armor blind him. He shut out the breeze of the wind and the songs of the birds, to focus on the clicking of Jarvan's spear. His feet budged to feel the earth, checking its composition. It was soft and gave easily. Garen could not be sure of his footing today. He inhaled, drawing the scent of his blue sash, faded from age.

"Jarvan, stop," Garen repeated, his voice still steady. "For you and I both. For Demacia." Garen blinked, and for a second he hoped to hear Jarvan's voice. Instead he heard the clanging of metal, one foot trampling over the other towards him. When his eyes opened, he saw the Demacian prince steps away, scowling. Garen's ears opened to Jarvan's battle cry, screaming for the honor of their home. Garen counted the paces in time with Jarvan's steps. When he judged the distance to be right, he coiled his knees and sprung to the air, in tandem with Jarvan's own leap. Warm air whipped by Garen's cheeks and he sailed through the sky. He reached, grabbing his opponent by the shoulder in mid-air. He twisted over himself, hurling Jarvan to the ground. As Garen landed, he could hear the crash of Jarvan slamming to the ground. Immediately he sprung, landing one foot on the prince's chest and pinning Jarvan's throat beneath his sword.

"Stand down," Garen commanded, a breath between the words. His stared into Jarvan's eyes. Inside them, he felt a burning, a pure and unchecked rage, unlike anything he had witnessed. Garen could not recognize the Jarvan before him, and something shoved his stare away from the prince.

"Jarvan, this is the only favor I have ever asked of you." Garen's voice calmed, drawing soft. His arm relaxed, easing the pressure of his blade against the prince. He held his sash in his palm, the fading cloth drifting down between his fingers. "This is proof that I have given everything to Demacia. All I want in return is-"

Garen was interrupted by a boot ramming into his chest, catapulting him into the sky. He tumbled to the ground, rolling to the side as a howl pierced the heavens. Jarvan's body crashed in front of him. A bloom of dust and dirt burst into the air from the impact. Garen coughed, catching his bearings, when Jarvan's shoulder smashed into his body. He stumbled back, the ground unable to keep his feet steady. Garen clutched the hilt of his sword with both hands and wrenched, swinging the flat of its blade. He felt the steel ram Jarvan's weight, throwing Jarvan's body aside. Blinking the dust out of his eyes, Garen paused to catch his breath. He could smell his sweat mixing with the dust on his sash.

Jarvan's face swooped in, crashing down on Garen's eyes. Garen felt the bone of the prince's skull crushing his nose. Blinded more by surprise than pain, Garen reeled before another headbutt smashed his eye. He let his sword fall to the ground, attempting to guard his head, but it was too late. A metal fist caught his temple and Garen toppled, his senses swimming in confusion.

"Tell me just one thing," Jarvan yelled from above. The sun shone behind him, creating a shadowy figure with an outline that stung Garen's eyes. Garen felt a spear tear through his shoulder, pinning him to the earth. A hand reached down and ripped the blue sash away from his neck. Garen felt the fight fleeing his body, unwilling to strike against his liege. Jarvan's voice rang again. "Did you promise to sell Demacia before or after she had finished spreading her legs?"

The fight returned to Garen. He sprung to his feet, tearing the spear out of the ground and still impaled on its shaft. He grabbed the wooden pole with one hand and snapped it with the other, wielding a makeshift club. Jarvan threw a fist, wide and wild. On his heels Garen spun, evading the strike and twisting inside of Jarvan's defense. He swung his improvised weapon upwards, catching Jarvan upside the jaw. A second stroke brought the club back down on Jarvan's head as Garen kicked to sweep his feet out. Garen looked down at Jarvan, anger still radiating from Jarvan's battered face. With a sharp realization, Garen was aware of the swelling beneath his eye, the blood streaming from his nose and shoulder. His face freed of the sash, Garen's breath burned with fire.

"You will _never_ talk about Kat like that," he growled, twirling the shaft in his hand. He saw himself drive the stake into Jarvan's eye and through his skull. He felt blood splash onto his armor. Wave of pain rippled through his body. When Garen looked down, he saw Jarvan still intact. A spearhead protruded from his gut, Xin Zhao's tassel dangling from the metal. With the last of his strength, he turned his head, catching Xin's eyes. They were blank, unwilling to betray any emotion.

"You will not harm the crown prince." The words were determined and focused. They were the last he heard as he crumpled. The ground was soft beneath him, and comfortable resting place. He saw his friend's face, consciousness beaten from it, as the corners of his vision dimmed. His head rang, as the clash of steel on steel echoed in his ears as he slipped away.

Garen struggled awake. His head rested on a silk pillow, his bandaged body lying on a mattress. Pain still tortured his body, but his mind focused on the warmth holding his hand. He strained to turn his head. The sunset light filtered through a glass pane and thin curtains, shining red light down at his companion. Her head was bowed over his hand, crimson hair obscuring her face. Garen could feel her hands clutching his and the gentle breeze of her breath on his knuckles. He closed his hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

"You're awake," she said with that tremble in her voice whenever she hid her distress. He heard a sniffle when he saw her emerald eyes. They were puffed and red, like tears had been recently wiped away.

"You came for me." Every word was a struggle for Garen to voice. "Why... Why did they let you escape with me?"

"Your sash," Katarina said. "They exchanged your life for your sash." Instinctively, Garen's hand went to his naked throat. He knew it was foolish, as he was not wearing his armor. Even so, he felt bare.

"Then they have turned me away," Garen muttered. He sank in the bed, turning away from Kat to stare at the ceiling, ornately patterened with black and red. "I am nothing now. No, less than nothing. A traitor." He thought Xin's spear had run him through once more.

"Garen, you still have..." Katarina's voice trailed off. He knew she was searching for the right words, but there were no right words. "Can you stand?" Garen lumbered up, his legs refusing to cooperate as he threw them over the side of the bed. Kat took an arm and slid her shoulder beneath him, helping him to his feet. With a concerted effort, Garen stood on his feet, leaning on Kat's smaller frame. Through hallways and doors, Kat lead him. The manor was decorated with gold and obsidian, ornate from ceiling to floor. The room Kat and Garen entered was lined with arms and armor, a single chandelier billowing light off of all the metal. A pair of grand doors rose in the back, emblazoned with the sigil of House du Couteau. With a heave, Kat pulled them open.

Inside, rested the skin of a monster. Garen had only seen it once before, long ago when he was a freshly trained Demacian soldier. It had been stripped from its dead owner, polished and shined to perfection. It glimmered in the light, begging for a new master to wear it. Garen fell short of breath, recalling the demon he had fought, the one who had worn this skin so many years ago.

"Your father's armor," Garen whispered in awe.

"Almost. It belongs to the head of the du Couteau house." Kat's hand guided Garen's stare back towards her, and their eyes met. She grinned the way she did every time they shared a bottle of her favorite wine. "A man's suit can't fit me, but you're only a bit taller than my father was. We could commission a smith to refit it for you."

"To turn on Demacia so easily..."

"Garen, they turned on you. You did not throw away your sash. They took it."

"The enemies I've made here. Urgot, Sion, so many more."

"You overcame them all before. You can overcome them again." Kat's hand held Garen's cheek. It was warm to the touch. "You and I are the same, Garen. We're nothing without a cause to serve. All I have to offer you is Noxus. All I have to offer is Noxus and myself."

"Because you are Noxus, and I am Demacia." Garen's lips twisted into a sour smile, as it always did when they were reminded of the barriers that separated himself and Kat. The smile quickly melted away from his face. "Was. I was..." Garen's knees gave out, and he slipped from Kat's grasp. He stumbled and grasped at the armor to steady himself. It clanked and rattled. He saw his reflection in the suit. He felt Kat grab him again, lifting him off of his crutch and holding him again.

"I need time to think, Kat."

"I understand, Garen."

As he struggled back to his bed, Garen felt his nerves shiver. Every step would be painful, every motion would strain his body and will. His instinct told him he would not be able to make it, but Garen pushed the thoughts away from his mind. With every step, he would have Katarina by his side, and that was all the confidence he needed. He knew he could do it.

He knew he could make Demacia regret its decision. He could make Demacia dread the return of General du Couteau.


End file.
